Call This Anything But Love
by khaleessiya
Summary: Alice has begun to develop feelings she can no longer deny for Will. Feelings that are further complicated when, after a fight that causes them to go their separate ways, the Red Queen and Jafar capture Will, an event that forces her to confront her love for both Cyrus and Will. Choosing between them, however, isn't as simple as she wants it to be. AU after Forget Me Not.
1. Part 1

**Part One**

"You could do it, you know, wish for cupcakes or flowers and get him back."

Alice looks up, a sharp jerk of her head, hands stilling where her fingers have been idly running over the curves of the bottle nestled in her lap. The frown she wears has become far too familiar to Will, and he wants more than anything for the lines of her face to stop carrying so much worry within them. As much as it pains him, he wants to tell her, _It's alright, love. You'll see him again._

"I can't," she says, voice small and lost, so unlike his fierce, determined Alice.

No, not his, never his. Because Will knows why she thinks she can't. The silly promise she'd made Cyrus about not using her wishes so they could be together forever. As far as Will's concerned, promises be damned. Getting the bottle back in their possession was hard enough, and as much as he'd like to throw his hands in the air and walk away, leaving Alice to find Cyrus on her own, he won't. But he also wants this over with as soon as possible. Every moment is another crack in his useless heart, another fracture he wishes he can't feel.

He'd never known a broken heart could break further until he'd met her, began to love her, and lost her to another man.

"Course you can," Will manages to say, his voice catching slightly on the last word as their eyes connect. "Isn't that what all this is for?"

"But…" hesitation is written all over Alice's face, uncertainty that Will only knows how to decipher as mistrust.

"If it's about me having the wishes, you got nothing to worry about," comes out harsher than he means it to.

Will has always believed words have power to them, an almost physical presence. In this case, the sharpened edges of what he's said seem to cut Alice. Her reaction is visible, back straightening, eyes going wide for a fraction of a second before narrowing, zeroing in on him in a way that makes it necessary for him to look away lest he let his growing confusion and frustration make him lash out at her. Will has never been the best at expressing himself, especially in situations where his heart or the hearts of others are concerned, and he has an impressive track record of leaving offended parties in his wake.

There are few doubts in his mind as to the path the current conversation will take.

"That's not what I meant."

When he puts his mind to it, Will is particularly good at ignoring things that make him feel uncomfortable. Keeping his gaze averted, he pretends the spidery cracks in the dry earth beneath is feet are of far more interest than anything she has to say. Truthfully, it's Alice he wants to be looking at, so he does, in a way, keeping track of her movements in his peripheral vision as she sets the bottle on the ground beside her and rises to her feet.

"Will," she says and he knows his cringe isn't just reflected in his soul but his entire body by the way her progression toward him halts.

It isn't that he doesn't want her to say his name, it's just easier for him to put distance between his feelings for her and the truth of their situation when he's merely Knave. Not Will. Because he loves the way her mouth looks when she says it, the way her voice curves around the single syllable and makes it sound like a name that should always be on her lips. Because it makes him wish that everything was different, that there was no Cyrus, no history between her and someone else that prevents him from walking up and kissing her, letting his hands wander down her curves.

And that's the crux of it. Alice is everything he wants but cannot have, and it's killing him.

Clearing his throat, Will glances up at Alice, taking note of the look on her face, somewhere between offended and confused. Exactly on course, this conversation. One of his hands rises, rubbing the back of his neck briefly, and he wonders if he should say something. Anything to break the awkward silence that has settled between them. Only, he has no idea what to say, or do, so he chooses to do and say nothing, keeping his mouth closed with his thoughts locked inside him. _It's better this way,_ he tells himself. _It has to be._

"Hungry?" he asks.

Alice says nothing, lets the change in conversation happen without argument, something that is so very unlike her he's not sure how it makes him feel. Will risks a look, finds she's staring off into the distance, and takes advantage of the moment to appreciate the features of her face. So very beautiful, and he's always liked her hair like this, the waves of it falling naturally about her shoulders, unfettered by the confines of the braids she prefers. It takes real effort to turn away completely.

When did he become such a lovesick fool? He hates it, hates himself more.

* * *

Some days, she feels like Will thinks she's oblivious. That she hasn't noticed the way his eyes follow her, or the way smiles fall easily onto his face when he's with her, the way they never do when they're with anyone else. Alice has only ever known Cyrus in terms of love, but it's enough to let her recognize the signs in someone else. To recognize the signs in herself she'd rather ignore, and it's taken her some time to understand that it's not mere loneliness or want of another manifesting itself in want of Will. She's tried so hard in recent days to pinpoint when exactly he took root in her heart with equal footing as Cyrus, and she can't.

She doesn't know when, supposing in the end, that it doesn't really matter.

Whatever Will is to her, Alice has been holding strong to her need to find Cyrus, reminding herself of her promise to him, of the way he made her feel when she was in his arms. And it hurts, like always, to be without him, but now there's a lingering doubt in her mind as to whether or not it's what she truly wants. Because perhaps she's found herself waking from dreams in which Will's fingers brush along her skin, the lightest of touches as his lips press against the curve where her neck and shoulder meet. Some mornings she can barely look him in the eye, her guilt overwhelming.

Because this… this was never supposed to happen.

Alice watches as Will halfheartedly rummages through their food looking for something to eat. The laugh that escapes her is involuntary, a reaction to the utter ridiculousness of it all. And his refusal to look at her causes an inescapable wave of fury to rise inside her. At him, at her, at Cyrus, and bloody _Wonderland_ for existing at all. In this moment, she'd gladly take the asylum and all its horrors over what she's currently feeling, this war of conflicting emotions that make her want to throw something just to have the satisfaction of watching it break.

"You're right, of course you are," she says finally.

Part of her is purposefully trying to provoke him as she sits, slips her shoe off and moves the heel until her wishes fall into an open palm. Another part is simply tired enough not to protest or be rational when impulse makes her do this. Alice places two of the wishes on the ground, holds the third between her forefinger and thumb. Her eyes shoot toward Will, lingering on his back until he starts to turn, then she squeezes them shut as she concentrates on one thing, an insignificantly small wish that can't possibly do any harm.

"I wish for a lemon cupcake."

The regret that washes over her is instantaneous, hitting her even before she feels the weight of the cupcake in her hand, before the smell of lemon fills the air in front of her. She drops it, like it's on fire, eyes flying open as both hands rise to cover her mouth. Will kneels beside her, nudging the cupcake away first, as if he thinks it might explode, and how can she blame him? All wishes come with a cost, even silly ones for cupcakes or flowers. But all she can think of is Cyrus, not whatever consequences may come.

"Do you think he felt it?" she asks Will, voice muffled by her hands until she moves them, one to push her hair back, the other pressing firmly against her chest, just below her throat. "Do you think he knows?"

"No, he didn't. He doesn't," Will tells her, and she recognizes it for the lie it is, but appreciates it all the same. After all, a genie is needed to grant the wish, is he not?

They are close enough to each other that Alice is very aware of Will and the way he's touching her. What she knows is meant to be comforting fills her with anxiety as she stares down where his larger hand has covered her smaller one, the both of them resting on her knee. Conflicting emotions fight inside her. She loves Cyrus, there's no denying that, but there's also no denying that she's fairly certain she's fallen in love with Will. Nothing would please her more in this moment than for the world to simply stop spinning, for time to stop until she can sort through what it is she wants.

_I wish,_ she starts to think, and angrily cuts herself off, because what's the point?

"He'd understand," Will offers.

Alice makes a sound that's somewhere between a sigh and laugh. Of course Cyrus would understand. Eventually. But now? Wherever he is? All he'd know is she'd broken a promise, made a wish. And if there is one thing Alice likes to think she can always say about herself, it's that she's dependable. Her promises aren't meant to be broken, rather being the sort of things she cherishes, holds onto and swears to uphold. In her experience, the only people who make and break them are the kind of people she doesn't like, scoundrels of the worst sort. Selfish is the word she's looking for.

"You don't know that," Alice says, shoving his hand away and getting to her feet. For good measure she kicks the cupcake away from her, careful to avoid the gleaming wishes still on the ground. "You don't know anything."

"I know more than you think," Will's voice is hot, the lighted fuse on a bomb. "Maybe it's you who knows nothing."

"Me?" she whirls on him, points a finger at his chest. "You wouldn't know love if it slapped you in the face!"

The moment the words escape her, Alice knows she's made a terrible mistake. They've done this before, volleys of words bearing barbs intended to stick in the other's skin, doing as much damage as possible. Yet, this is different. This isn't some petty fight that can easily be fixed. Alice knows neither of them is talking about Cyrus anymore, or the wish. _How did we get here?_ Will's face has gone still, the only thing holding any kind of emotion being his eyes. Anger, betrayal, things she'd rather never see when he looks at her.

"This again? That what you really think, is it?" he clenches his jaw, shakes his head and shouts, voice full of frustration, "I don't know why I'm even here still."

"Then what's stopping you from leaving?" there is a note of desperation in the question that surprises her, as if she's begging him to help her understand what she's feeling.

He looks away, either refusing to hear her plea or really not recognizing it for what it is, shrugs and says, "Nothing."

* * *

Once, his mother had taken Will aside, telling him the best way to make someone who loves you leave you behind is to make them hate you. Advice he'd taken to heart and used only once before, with the intention of never doing it again. Yet, here he stands, on the verge of walking down that same path. The situation is not quite the same, considering Alice has never given him any indication she loves him the way he loves her. Surely, if she feels anything of the sort for him, it would be how she'd feel for a brother, had she one. Making her hate him, well, that might make it hurt less when she finally walks away, hand in hand with Cyrus.

As if anything can make that hurt less.

There are a thousand things he can think to say, a thousand ways to hurt her, make her hate him and enjoy seeing him walk away. Put the final nail in the coffin that is his love for her. The tip of his tongue has become a breeding ground for his own pain, his own cowardice, taking the form of poisonous words he's not sure can ever be taken back once said. They itch to be set free. _Hurt her, the way loving her hurts you. Tell her she's just a stupid little girl. Tell her you feel sorry for her, that you only stayed because you didn't think she was strong enough to do this on her own. Lie to her, and make it sound like the truth. You're good at that. _

"Then why are you still here?" Alice demands.

Will looks her in the eyes, sees the sheen of tears in them and nearly loses his resolve.

"Don't do me any favors, Knave," she hisses the name at him, twists the knife in his gut, but isn't that what he wanted? To not be Will to her anymore? She waves her hand in the general direction to her left, "if you want to go, leave. I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did."

The implication she's been expecting him to leave all along is exactly the catalyst he needs.

"That a fact? And to think I came back for you when you think so lowly of me," Will snaps, hands clenched into fists at his side. "You, the foolish child playing at love in the hopes it'll erase all that pain you've got from your daddy not giving you enough attention when you were a girl. Maybe I should've left you there, you ever think of that? Left you to rot in that cell. Maybe _Cyrus_ would have come for you then, yeah?"

For just a moment he thinks she's going to back down, let his words be the last thing hanging between. Then her eyes light up with fire, mouth twisting as she advances on him.

"Oh isn't that rich, coming from you," she all but growls. "At least I'm not afraid of love."

"No, you're just so blinded by it you don't see the flaw in loving a _genie_," Will pauses, makes sure she's looking at him, and asks, "What're you gonna do when you get old and he still looks the same? Or are you gonna use one of your wishes to make yourself young forever?"

That stops her, makes Alice's eyes widen just the slightest bit before she gets control of herself, as if she's honestly been stupid enough not to have thought of that already. A tremor runs through the bottom portion of her face, frustration bringing her to the edge of true tears. Rapidly she blinks, trying to keep them from falling. For the most part, at first, she succeeds, then one tear falls, followed quickly by another and another until her flushed cheeks are wet.

"What do you care anyway?" she wipes at her face, turning her back on him so he almost misses the, "Why haven't you already left?"

Whatever else he wants to say to her, the words die on his lips, sinking back into his mouth behind his teeth where they hide. The damage is done all the same, evident in the way her shoulders curve in, defeated. Winning feels an awful lot like losing to Will, the kind of ache that makes him wish he were younger, back when he didn't have his heart and wouldn't have cared the way he did now. Before he'd met Alice, seen the spark of her soul set fire to everything she touched, bringing it to life. She'd done that to him, breathed life back into him, and for what? For this?

_To hell with her, and to hell with this._

"You want me gone? I'm bloody gone," he says, stiffly making his way to where his things are scattered on the ground. Not much of it, enough that it takes him only a moment to shove it all in the pack he's taken to carrying with him.

Walking away is possibly one of the hardest things he's ever done, but he remains resolute, not looking back as he picks a direction at random and begins to walk. As far away from her as possible. Maybe if he gets far enough he'll forget, move on. Only he knows he won't, because he still carries the scars from Anastasia. He'll carry Alice with him for the rest of his life, etched into a piece of him he'll bury and try to never think about again. Lose himself in the touch of women he'll never truly care for, a cheap imitation of the love he craves. But maybe he was never meant to have a heart that beats in time with another.

_You're a fool, Will Scarlet,_ he tells himself. _Nothing but a bloody fool._


	2. Part 2

_**A/N:** _This is only canon compliant through episode three: Forget Me Not. I haven't watched The Serpent, so I really have no idea how this compares to what was done with Will being captured, plus I'm having like, a month pass between the events of this and when Alice/Will were at the Grendel's place. Also not having the Red Queen/Jafar find out Alice is with Will at that point, because… yeah. I just want you all to assume they found out a different way, later. Oh! And I'm also not here for the continued romance with Scarlet Queen, because having the Red Queen be an actual villain is more fun for me to write. :)

* * *

**Part Two**

Three days is a long time for Alice to be alone with her thoughts, for her to turn them over and over until she feels there's no longer any part of them that hasn't been thoroughly examined. An ache has long since settled deep inside her, seeming to emanate from her heart, that place she can feel slowly crumbling away into nothing. Until she becomes a hollow shadow, mere grief manifesting itself in the form of a girl who no longer knows whether she believes in hope, or love, at all. It frightens her, because she can feel herself slipping away with every rise of the moon, the darkness covering her like the night.

Which feels, in all honesty, something akin to being locked away again.

The two remaining wishes call to her, begging to be used. They're such small things to hold such power. An endless list of possibilities for her to choose from, anything she wants. She could be selfish, wish to be sent home, away from this, where the doctors are waiting. To help her forget, take her pain away. To take her somewhere Cyrus doesn't exist, where there's no Will to torment her, no more White Rabbit, or his portals into other worlds. It could be that simple, just one wish.

_You're stronger than this Alice_, she tells herself, hoping the more she says it, the truer it will be.

Because she so desperately wants to believe she's more than the sum of parts she's always found lacking. A broken girl playing at being a woman. In these three days, All the things Will said have plagued her, so much that she can no longer discern in her mind whether they came from him or from her. _Playing at love_. It eats at her, making her think back on all the times she sat waiting for her father to look at her, to love her, to do anything at all that would make her feel the slightest bit important.

Falling through the rabbit hole was the best thing that had ever happened to her, because it was an escape. Maybe Will _is_ right. Maybe she's just a silly little girl still trying her hardest to have the perfect life, a perfect love. Will's voice whispers, _foolish child playing at love_. Squeezing her eyes shut, Alice tries to ignore it, telling herself, no, she's _not_ just a child playing at anything. She _does_ know love! _You're not that girl anymore, no matter what they tried to make you believe. You're not her. You're stronger than this. Don't you dare give up._

Giving up seems easy, though. Easier than continuing on, fighting for a love she no longer is certain holds her future.

Thinking about Cyrus hurts, because she wants so badly for him to be the one she'll spend the rest of her life with. She's dreamed of breaking the chains that bind him to his bottle. So they might live together, for the rest of their lives and grow old together. Have children, be happy and whole. It's all she's ever wanted, but Alice isn't stupid. Immortality and mortality do not mix well in the grand scheme of life. Even if she were to free him, what guarantees would she have that Cyrus wouldn't outlive her? Stay forever young while she faded from life.

Tears aren't something Alice has ever let come easily, not since she was old enough to recognize the way such things registered as weakness in her father's eyes. Yet there are times she can't help it, when her pain slowly fills her to the brim so the only option left is for her to let it spill out of her. Let it burn tracks down her cheeks, like her tears do tonight, in the chilled evening air. At least she's alone this time, with no one to witness the surrender. And that, in itself, only makes the tears fall faster. She's not sure she's ever felt quite so truly alone in the world as this, sitting by herself before a dying fire.

The crack of a twig snapping somewhere to her left draws Alice's attention, her head whipping toward it. Quickly, she wipes at her face, trying to hide the evidence she's been crying.

"Will?" she whispers, feeling that ebbing hope inside blossom. It wilts as quickly as it bloomed, her entire self deflating when she sees the White Rabbit hesitantly step forward, his white fur red in the glow of the woods. _Fitting, for a traitor._ "You," she hisses, advancing on him until he's forced to retreat. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing here?"

The look of apprehension on his face is warranted, considering the last time Alice had seen him, Will had threatened to skin the rabbit. A threat that is, by and large, no longer an issue in relation to Will at the moment. But very much still one concerning Alice. She's never actually skinned a rabbit, let alone anything, but she's fairly certain she could work out what to do in order to not botch the job completely. After all, mostly it would just be the killing part that would matter most, and she thinks she could do that well enough.

"I asked you a question, Rabbit," her voice is steel as she watches him shift his body weight from one foot to the other.

"I…" he trails off, and the helpless expression he wears infuriates her, making her want to close the distance between them and press her sword to his throat.

As if he has _any_ right to feel anything at all but remorse.

"You what? You're sorry?" she demands, letting all her disgust and anger toward him show in the way she says the word _sorry_.

"You wouldn't understand," the rabbit tells her quietly, "We're not all like you, Alice."

Whatever excuses he's set to make, she wants no part of it, turning away from him with a, "Spare me, Rabbit." _Let him spin his tales and try to justify what he's done._ There's nothing he can say, no amount of words that can take back what he's done to her. Hurt her in a way that's become just another record of someone else letting her down, abandoning her when she's needed them. _Don't think about Will_. _Don't._

"I'm not brave, you see," he continues, bringing her thoughts back to the present, "I'm not the type to sacrifice myself for others, not like you would."

It does stop her, only for curiosity's sake. As much as she wants for him to leave, she wants to know more.

Turning back, Alice eyes him carefully and asks, "Why are you here?"

"I'm not brave," he repeats, pointlessly in her opinion, because she already knows he's nothing but a bloody coward, "but I… you should know they're going to kill him."

"Cyrus?" she asks, confused, because she thought this was something they'd already figured out. That Cyrus' life is hanging in the balance.

"No," the rabbit says solemnly, eyes locked on the ground, "not Cyrus. _Will_."

The sound rushing to Alice's ears is her entire world collapsing.

* * *

"Pour me another, yeah?"

Will's voice is slurred, just enough to let him know he should probably change his mind, get up, walk out the door and find somewhere to sleep for the night. Instead, he grabs the beer, downs it, and lets his eyes wander the dark pub, full of exactly the kind of lot he's tried so hard to avoid ever since returning to Wonderland. For Alice, maybe for himself, to prove he's a better man. _A better man_, he laughs to himself, _a better man wouldn't have left her on her own. _It's destroyed him, every day a little more, the knowledge that he's left Alice to the wolves.

Worse than wolves.

Guilt has become a cloak he wears heavily on both his shoulders, weighing him down. Were he to walk into a river, Will's sure it would make him sink to the bottom, drown him. And right now, he's fairly certain he wouldn't even put up a fight. The world's simply a better place without him, without the stain of his soul darkening everything he touches. Like Alice, wonderful Alice and her beautiful _everything_. As much as he hates himself for leaving her, Will knows she's better off without him. _Everyone's better off without you_.

"Well, what have we here?"

It's been many years since Will's heard that voice, and though it's more sleek, more polished and made of silk, there's no denying who it belongs to. A dozen emotions rise inside him, warring with one another, intermingling with his already sorrowfully low spirits. Slowly, he turns, trying to keep his wits about him despite the fact he's had several beers too many tonight and is most definitely paying the price. Looking at her, he realizes, is a terrible idea when he sees her face, the shape of her mouth and eyes, things he's come to now know only in dreams that always turn into the same nightmare of her leaving him.

Of her breaking his heart and dancing on the shattered pieces.

"Ana," her name is on his breath before he can stop himself, and he hates himself for the longing it carries with it.

"Darling, you look positively dreadful," she says, coming closer until he can smell her. Not lilacs and lavender anymore, but something more exotic he can't put a name to except to say it's wholly Wonderland where before she'd smelled something like home.

_She's not Anastasia anymore._

"What do you want," he asks, feeling off balance for more reasons than just his inebriation.

"What do I want?" she repeats, leaning in so that her breath brushes his ear, causing him to tense, "I think you know exactly who I want."

The shift of words isn't lost on him, even in his current state. Not what, _who_.

"Don't worry, darling, you don't have to tell us where she is," Anastasia - _no_, not Anastasia, he reminds himself - _the Queen_, continues with just a touch of glee, her eyes dancing in the dim light of the pub, "I think we both know she'll come for you once she knows I intend to have your head on a platter."

"She won't," he tries, not even convincing himself. Stupid, _reckless_, beautiful Alice.

"Either way, you die," she tells him, the curve of her mouth a blade. "Won't that be fun?"

The room spins as she snaps her fingers, an action Will tries his best to follow, but it's pointless. Too many cups he's tried to drown himself in tonight, and in a way, he supposes it worked. Rough hands grab him, the Queen's henchman, dragging him off the stool he's been sitting on. Stumbling, he resists, weakly, because standing is hard enough and the room is spinning. It doesn't take long for them to subdue him, pull him to the door as dozens of blurry faces watch them go. Will wonders how many of them might be pleased at the prospect of his dying.

_All of them_, _the whole bloody lot of them._

Somewhere between getting thrown onto the grass outside the pub and finding himself kneeling before Jafar, with his serpent staff and its glowing eyes, Will figures he must have blacked out. Head pounding, he can't seem to focus on anything much until the almost gentle touch of fingers is on his chin. Everything is red, and he can smell her, knows before she even lifts his face so he can look at her. At her face that wounds him just by existing.

"I want him fully conscious for it," she says slowly, glancing behind her at Jafar.

_For what? _

"Certainly," the Sorcerer agrees, his voice a snake that coils around Will until everything turns black.

He wakes screaming. No one touches him, but he feels it all the same. The red hot touch of heated metal pressing against his skin, the bite of a whip's tail across his back, bones breaking in his hands and feet, the sharp edge of a blade cutting into him. Dozens of simultaneous agonies that make Will clench his teeth to keep himself from crying out again. It doesn't help and he's never hated magic more. All it's ever done for him is ruin his life, led him here, to his demise.

Will hasn't often made it a habit of thinking of the ways he might die, but the thought has crossed his mind more than once. Mostly due to his own behavior, men wanting his head and having the backing to make good on their threats has been somewhat commonplace. And even if he'd thought at one time he might die from a broken heart, he certainly never really entertained the idea that _Anastasia_ would be the one to order his death. Or that she'd watch him being tortured with only the barest hint of unease in her eyes.

Almost as if she cares, which he knows she doesn't, because she might wear Anastasia's face, but the Red Queen is not the woman he once knew. That girl had been spoiled, _selfish_, but she'd never been unnecessarily cruel, not like this. Not the kind of girl who'd stand by and watch as a man is forced to endure the agony of magic, fire burning his blood as it races through his veins. Making him crave death only to make it stop. _Please make it stop_. Only it never does, not even when he's begging.

"_Ana, please."_

They leave him hanging from the ceiling, from his bound wrists so his shoulders feel they're going to come out their sockets. Pain that's right at home with the lingering ache in his entire body. In his soul. Perhaps this is his reward for all the people he's hurt, the lives he took when he was without his heart, for all the things he'd done _with_ his heart that have weighed on his conscience. _You will never be the better man_, he tells himself, his way of justifying all of this. Because it's easier this way, believing he's only getting what's been coming to him for years.

_You can't outrun the past forever._

* * *

Every part of her knows this is a trap, yet Alice can't seem to care. All she can think about is Will, the threat of him losing that terribly annoying head of his that always seems to be saying the wrong thing. It terrifies her, because she can't let the last thing she's said to him be something said in anger, her telling him to leave, as if she doesn't want him with her anymore. Nothing could be further from the truth. Being with him, she's come to realize, is all she wants. More than anything. It's never that simple though. Not when she has Cyrus to consider.

Yet, pushing away thoughts of Cyrus has become commonplace in the several days it's taken her to get to the Queen's palace, shaped like chess pieces that have been steadily growing larger on the horizon as Alice gets closer. Posters with Will's picture and execution date have increased as well, at every turn she makes. His face stares impassively from where it's been nailed to a tree, the side of a building, everywhere. A sick feeling causes her stomach to churn. There's nowhere she can go to get away from them and their proclamation that here, in this place, the infamous Knave of Hearts will lose his head publicly.

_What if I can't save him?_

The question haunts Alice as she makes her way through a growing crowd, hood pulled up to obscure her identity as she walks, face down, eyes darting this way and that.

Thus far, no one has seemed the slightest bit interested in her. Around her are dozens of conversations about Will, of all the things he's done. Bringing criminals and innocent men and women alike to the Queen of Hearts, those individuals coming back different. _Heartless_. One woman has tears in her eyes as she tells the man next to her how the Knave of Hearts killed her daughter for the former Queen. Came to their house in the night, like the thief he is, and stole her only to have the body be found hanging from a tree several days later with a large, red heart sewn into the bodice of her dress.

Whether or not it's true matters little to Alice. She's long since come to terms with the immorality of Will's past, something she only finds important when comparing it with the man she's seen him become. _A good man_, one worth risking her life for, who has grown out of the ruin of his former self into someone she's proud to call a friend, to have fallen in love with. Someone she has grown to trust with her life, and who she'd give her own life for, if it came to that. A man that's currently being dragged onto the platform by two hooded guards, his hands shackled in front of him.

Not once, in her entire time of knowing Will, has she ever seen him look quite so broken. There's not a single physical sign to show he's been treated ill, no bruises or cuts on his face, but the evidence is there all the same. Visible, possibly, only to someone who knows him as well as she does. Haunted eyes, his entire countenance that of a man who no longer has anything left to give, maybe even nothing to live for. Yet he holds his head high, stares defiantly into the crowd, ever the showman, ever the actor playing his role of indifference. Alice has never seen through it more clearly than now.

Her eyes locked on Will, she doesn't notice at first, not until the murmuring of the crowd draws her attention to the guards pulling a cage onto the platform. With silver bars that glint in the sunlight, and _Cyrus_ sitting in the center. Alice's breath catches in her throat, her entire body going still so that someone to her left bumps into her shoulder with a mumbled apology she barely hears. _Cyrus_. Alive, breathing, in one piece and in a place her eyes can finally see him, finally know for certain he's really here, not lost in the Boiling Sea.

Years have passed since Alice has seen Cyrus, the last image she's had to hold onto being him falling to his death. An image that has haunted her nightmares, even here in Wonderland, causing her to wake with tears in her eyes and a tight feeling in her chest. She's known, of course, that he isn't dead, his heart still beating as he waits for her to find him. A single note on enchanted paper, the heavy pendant resting near her own heart, things she's clung to in lieu of concrete proof. She's known, but seeing him in person, it's different. Proof may not have been necessary, but it's certainly filled her with relief, even if she is finding it increasingly difficult to breath, the rest of the world going hazy save for him.

A haze that's brought into sharp clarity when the crowd's murmuring ceases and Alice's view of Cyrus is blocked by the brilliant visage of the Red Queen, living up to her name completely in an elaborate crimson gown and matching elbow gloves. Only when the Queen passes does Alice see that Cyrus has caught sight of her, his gaze on her face with a distressed expression on his own. Something catches his attention, causes him to look to where the Queen has paused. Following his glance, Alice sees Jafar with his head bent close to the Queen's ear, a slow smile spreading across her face as her eyes sweep over the crowd. Alice lowers her gaze, heart pounding as she turns to the side, just enough that she hopes she's blocked by the man standing in front of her.

_Don't see me, don't see me. _

"Alice, darling, we know you're here," the Queen's voice rings out over the crowd. "Come now, don't be shy."

The crowd shifts around Alice, murmuring beginning anew as the spectators try to figure out just _what_ exactly is going on. Something Alice is quite keen to find out as well as she moves slowly through the crowd, keeping to the fringes, careful to keep her face down and in a direction that's not toward the platform. As much as she wants to, Alice forces herself not to steal glances at either Cyrus or Will, instead putting as much distance between herself and the Queen as possible, only stopping once she's at the very outskirts of the crowd in the back. _Don't risk everything just to make sure they're both still there_.

"All you have to do is choose," the Queen continues, "Use a wish, Alice, and choose which one you'll save."

Unable to help herself, Alice looks at the platform, sees that one of the hooded men holds a sharp, wicked looking axe, and the other has pointed a loaded crossbow at Cyrus, aimed at his chest through the bars. A slight scuffle ensues as a guard drags Will to a chopping block, but he appears too weak to put up much of a fight as he's pushed down, held with his head against the wood. Chest tightening, Alice's eyes dart back and forth between the two of them as it sinks in what the Queen wants her to do. _Choose which one you'll save_. Horrified, she squeezes her eyes shut briefly, then takes a deep breath, a futile attempt to calm herself.

The look on Will's face has settled into something of resigned defeat, as if he knows she won't choose to save him, not with Cyrus' life on the line. And she can't blame him, not when everything they've done thus far in Wonderland has been to find Cyrus, to reunite her with him. But how can she possibly _not_ choose Will? Surely they need Cyrus. _It's the wishes they're after_. It has to be, and if they need her wishes, they need Cyrus to grant them. Alice's mind races, unsure if she's come to the right conclusion, scared that she'll get both or either of them killed.

The hooded man raises the axe, begins to swing it toward Will's neck and Alice doesn't stop to think more. All that matters is saving Will, keeping him from losing his head, getting him as far from here as possible. _I wish Will and I were in the Queen of Heart's maze. _Away from the Red Queen and her palace, someplace that's still not quite safe, but safer than here. Just as she begins to feel a pull in her stomach, similar to that of the Rabbit's portals, Alice looks at Cyrus. Of course he's found her in the crowd, and there's no mistaking that he knows. _He knows_.

The last thing she sees before the world tilts around her is the sadness in his eyes.


	3. Part 3

A/N: This is turning out to be more than just three parts. I'd extended it to four, but now I'm thinking it'll be more along the lines of five, or more likely six. Sorry this one's shorter than I intended.

* * *

In the amount of time it takes Will to realize something isn't right, the Executioner's blade is already on it's downward stroke. He can see the shadow, large and looming, though he can't see the actual man nor the blade. By the time he feels the pull, that tug behind his belly button and the inevitable loss of equilibrium that comes with jumping through space, the axe has already begun to sink itself into the back of his neck. Sharp enough that he doesn't really feel it except a heaviness bearing down on him, not until he's tumbling head over heels through a purple haze that eventually spits him out on the hard yellow bricks he knows all too well from his time as the Knave of Hearts.

Yellow that's fast becoming spotted with his own blood.

Shakily, because traveling by wish is not equal to traveling by any form of portal he's used during his life, leaving him feeling sick and twisted up inside, Will lifts a hand to touch the back of his neck as gingerly as he can. And maybe, he admits, it's also the fact he nearly had his head chopped off that's causing him to tremble as he stares at the red staining his fingers. Whatever it is, Will's grateful to be alive, pleased to have been saved, yet furious all the same that Alice would waste a wish on him_. Stupid, impulsive girl_, he seethes as he tears the hem of his shirt to make a bandage for what feels like a nasty, if fairly shallow, wound. At least shallow enough he's not dead.

The scrap isn't nearly adequate in staunching the blood. All too quickly it's soaked through, the gray fabric saturated so thoroughly it looks almost black. Tossing it aside, Will tears off more of his shirt, tying it around his neck so the knot rests just below his Adam's apple, tight enough for him to feel it's choking him at first. Something he ignores, reminding himself he's lucky enough to even have a neck to feel choked right now, concentrating instead on trying to figure out just where exactly he is inside the maze, a task only made doable due to his previous service to the Queen of Hearts. The signs for navigating the place are easy, once they've been learned.

Sure enough, several bright bricks to his left there's an engraved heart, the point of it signaling a hidden pathway through the towering shrubs in the direction of the palace itself. Not exactly where he wants to go, considering he has no idea what might still be lurking in the abandoned halls. No, what Will needs is to find the spades, his ticket to freedom. Far away from this place and all the terrible memories it holds. But first, more important than leaving this labyrinth, he needs to figure out if Alice wished them _both _here, or just him. Thankfully he still remembers all the Queen's hidden tricks, like the diamonds along the edges of the path.

Diamonds that could easily fit inside the dimes he'd used back in Storybrooke, etched so faintly into the brick, he never would have noticed them if he hadn't been taught where they were. There's never been a time Will has been more pleased to have been the Queen's Knave than now, as he sees the red shimmer lighting up one point on all the diamonds in front of him, the same point, creating a line of arrows leading the way. Because if there was one thing the Queen hated, it was intruders, and with such a large, hard to navigate maze surrounding her palace, she'd needed a way for her guards to find and capture whoever it was who had dared come uninvited.

Will just hopes said intruder is _Alice_.

* * *

Finding herself alone in the Queen's maze, with her knuckles scraped and stinging from her graceless fall, Alice berates herself for having not been more specific with her wish. For all she knows, Will is on the opposite end, separated from her by endless walls of thick hedges that will take more effort than she'd like to expend in cutting through them. If she even can cut through them, considering she's never tried before. The last time she was here, she'd only just met Cyrus, and wouldn't have known the first thing about even holding a sword, let alone wielding one. A heavy sigh escapes her at the same time she unsheathes the blade. Now is as good a time as any to try.

The initial blow does nothing except sink into the hedge, catching slightly when she goes to pull it out. Magic, still lingering from the height of the Queen of Heart's power, though she's been gone for years. Yanking the blade free, Alice wants to scream. Wandering around a seemingly endless maze looking for Will sounds far too tiring and hopeless. If only she'd been smarter, thought to revise the wish to have her and Will arrive _together_. Which of course, could have gone all kinds of wrong anyhow. Sudden images of the two of them becoming conjoined flits through her mind, causing her to frown and hate the very idea of wishes. _More bother than they're worth, honestly_.

From where she stands, all Alice can see are the towering hedges on either side of her, no indication given as to which direction the palace is, and which leads away from it. In front of her is a short path that takes a left, and a glance behind her lets her see a long path that's too far away for her to tell which way it turns, if it does at all. Countless dead ends wait for her in the maze. A thousand different ways for her to get turned around, hopelessly lost. Without food or water, it's entirely possible they'll both die in here. A laugh at the irony of the situation bubbles up inside her. Saving Will only to sentence him to death by dehydration and starvation inside his former Queen's maze.

_What were you thinking, Alice? _

She sighs, turning in a circle as she debates which way to go.

Forward, backward. Nowhere at all. None of the options appeal to her, yet she chooses forward all the same, in the direction of the left turn. Which leads to another left, a sharp right, more turns than she can keep track of, and a dead end that makes her blood sing with indignation. As if the maze knows what she's trying to do and is purposefully blocking her path. Which is, of course, bloody ridiculous to be thinking in the first place. All the same, she releases her frustration by taking her sword and sinking it into the thin branches of the hedge, hacking pieces of it off until there's a misshapen hole through which she can see nothing except a long line of path stretching out in front of her.

"Bloody hell, you're not really trying to cut through all that to find me, are you?"

In the instant it takes for her breath to catch, Alice has whirled, turning so quickly she nearly loses her balance.

Dropping from her hand, the sword clangs onto the ground, forgotten as she launches herself forward. This is not their usual way of greeting, but she feels she can be forgiven for wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she can, because honestly, a large part of her had started to believe he was lost somewhere in this God forsaken maze without his head. Thankfully, that's not the case, though she's not so far gone in her joy at finding him alive - or rather him finding her - that she doesn't notice when his entire body tenses the second she envelopes him, an arm coming to rest against the back of the neck she's very glad is fully intact.

In the space of several breaths Alice takes note of the feel of something wet against her sleeve and freezes, shifting just enough so she can see the bandage that's mostly stiffened with drying blood, and the stain on the white fabric that's now sticking to her skin. A gasp begins and is quickly stifled as she pulls back completely, hoping the expression on her face isn't nearly as horrified as she feels. Certainly it's nothing like the look on Will's face as he watches her, carefully, features schooled so perfectly into one of nonchalance that it's _too perfect_, too utterly calculated to be natural.

"You're hurt?" the words rush out of her, breathy in a way that makes it clear she's having trouble breathing.

Which Alice is, because in addition to her hacking at the hedge before his arrival, an injury to the _neck_ of all places is indicative of him having been struck by the executioner's axe before her wish was fulfilled.

_Her fault, all her fault._

There's a brief moment when she hesitates, uncertainty surely flitting across Alice's face in the seconds it takes her to decide that, yes, she does want to see what kind of damage she's caused him. Then she's working at the knot at his neck, ignoring his protests and the way his jaw has clenched tightly. It's only when his hands lift to stop hers from working at the bandage that she looks up at him, sees the raised eyebrows above those eyes she's become so accustomed to knowing. That she never wants to stop knowing. Will's still keeping his face devoid of any real emotion, but he's always had trouble keeping what he's feeling from showing in his eyes.

"I'm fine," he tells her, putting extra emphasis on the last word. It does little to ease her distress.

"I just, I need to," Alice starts, shoving his hands away, "I need to see."

The lack of fight as she slips the knot undone surprises her, but she ignores it in favor of carefully removing the bandage from around his neck as she circles him. Were Will any taller, her inspection of the wound would be far more difficult. As it stands, or rather as they stand, the pair of them happen to be on fairly literal equal footing. What healing the cut had done she'd disrupted when she hugged him, that much is clear, fresh blood on his skin. Alice runs her fingers over the gash, not actually touching it. Deep enough that it'll scar, not deep enough that it'll have any lasting damage, which makes her breathe a sigh of relief.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, feeling tears form in her eyes as the gravity of the situation fully hits her.

A few seconds longer and he'd be dead, the evidence is right in front of her. Alice bites her bottom lip, steps back once, then twice, because she's fairly sure she's about to start crying and it's the last thing she wants to be doing right now. Space, she needs space. When he starts to turn to face her, she whirls on her heel, putting her back to him more to hide her lapse in strength than anything. _Don't you dare cry, _she tells herself, breathing deeply as a means to calm herself, focusing so intently on that one task she doesn't notice when Will's moved behind her, close enough to touch her. She jumps at the sudden contact, moving instantly to put more distance between them.

"The only thing you got to be sorry for is using one of those wishes on me," he tells her, something so resigned in his voice that she turns involuntarily.

"What would make you say a thing like that?" Alice asks, frustration evident in every word, mostly at him for not realizing after all this time just how bloody important he is to her.

And also at herself for not having the courage to do something more to have shown him. For being so caught up in finding Cyrus, in getting that happy ending, that she couldn't really see what was in front of her until it was almost too late. It shouldn't have taken a fight between them, and Will almost dying, for her to truly make the choice. A choice that, when she thinks on it, was heavily influenced by her belief that Cyrus was important enough to them for his death to not actually be on the table. In that moment, Alice's resolve falters. Because she loves Will, she knows that as certainly as she knows her own name.

But can she be certain she would have made the same choice if she'd really thought Cyrus' life was in danger as well?

* * *

There are things Will would rather not admit, like how much he wants for Alice's arms to still be around him, despite the pressure she'd put on an already painful wound, or how much he both hates and loves the way her eyes light up the way like this. The heated embers of her fiery soul on full display, waiting for a touch of anything to set them ablaze, to create a spark that can either turn into a raging inferno or something far less dangerous depending on the fuel given. But the flare dampens as quickly as it came, and Will knows she turning his words over in her mind, looking at the truth in them.

This is not a story where he'd ever be considered the hero, and he's far from a selfless man, not the type to quietly walk away from something he wants. But for once in his life, Will's determined to do the right thing, and that means reuniting Alice with Cyrus, sticking to the plan. Because Alice is the hero in this tale, and Cyrus is her damsel in distress. Everyone knows how the story plays out. People like Will, the supporting characters, don't factor into the happily ever afters. They fade into the background, never to be heard from again. Not by a long shot is he truly fine with that, but this is his chance. Probably the only real chance he'll get to do a truly selfless thing. And if it's the last thing he does in his life, he's not going to screw it up.

"You already wasted one," Will shrugs, a hand coming up in a 'do I really need to explain this?' gesture her eyes follow closely.

"I didn't waste the second," Alice tells him, sharply, in a way that makes her sound every bit the school teacher correcting an answer she doesn't like. "Saving your life would never be a waste."

Every part of Will wants to believe her, but there's a note of uncertainty in her voice, one that tells him plainly exactly how she feels. No amount of protests on her part could convince him otherwise, not when he sees the slight frown settling on her face, the one she only ever wears when she's questioning herself. It stings, more than the sweat in the cut on his neck does, more than any slap he's ever received from a woman he's scorned. _No less than you deserve, _he reminds himself bitterly. He can't help but wonder if death wouldn't have been a kinder fate.

"Of course," he agrees absently, turning away from Alice in order to locate the spades that will lead them out of the maze. Once he finds one, he extends his hand to her without looking, "Come on, then. Let's get you back on the road to Cyrus."

When she doesn't take his hand, Will looks at her expectantly, finds her several feet away, sword slipping into it's sheath on her back.

"Alright," Alice says softly, coming toward him after a moment of studying his face, slipping her hand into his. "If that's what you want."

The words don't quite make sense to Will, because why would what he wants factor into this at all? It's not what he wants, would never be what he wants, to send her to Cyrus, to a happy ending that doesn't include _him_. But he knows it's what _she_ wants. All she's ever wanted, everything she needs. Cyrus is what she needs in her life, a stability he could never provide for her, a life he could never give her. Will chalks it up to shock, or whatever it might be that caused the words to even be thought by her. What he wants has never factored into anyone else's life before, not really. Why would this be any different?

Ignoring the hurt, Will tightens his hand around Alice's, savoring the feel of it as he turns, leading her through the hedge to her inevitable exit from his life.


End file.
